Zara marched ahead, her massive axe thudding against her back with each step, her silver hair tied into a rough tail, the faint red curse marks on her calf pulsing subtly with every breath.
Her blue eyes were sharp, fixed on the path, her silence heavy with determination.
The trail turned soft underfoot, leaves coated in a sticky layer of red dust, the air thick, wrong, like breathing through a veil of ash.
Leon raised his palm, his voice low.
"Fireball."
A small ember danced at his fingertips, weak and flickering, then fizzled out with a hiss.
"Again," he muttered, his brow furrowing. He tried harder, the spark returning—brighter, but brief—before vanishing again.
"It's like my magic's on dial-up," he said, frustration creeping into his voice.
Terya snorted behind him, her grin wide. "I have no idea what a dial-up is, but I am guessing it is something funny"
Leon blinked, a laugh escaping despite his unease. "That… actually... It is I guess."
